


The Roads We Take

by brothebro, Eclipsia (tunafishprincess)



Series: Fallen Too Far [2]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Body Horror, Claire POV, Claire-centric, Clairegana, Dark Magic, Drama, Drama & Romance, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Healing, Height Differences, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Magic, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Possession, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Romance, Sequel, Sex, Size Difference, Troll Jim, Unplanned Pregnancy, dark jlaire, formerly possessed claire, jlaire, morgana!Claire, there's a lot of warnings here ya'll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2019-10-12 18:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17472788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/pseuds/brothebro, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunafishprincess/pseuds/Eclipsia
Summary: The mountain to recovery is steep and no matter how much she climbs she can never get to the top.Still, this is the road she has taken.So she continues.(Writing by me, art by brothebro)





	1. Twenty-Five

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters. 
> 
> Hey! People were interested in what happened after Fallen Too Far so I wrote a small sequel to it. Brothebro is helping me with the art portion so once that's done I'll post the works into the chapters too.

 

**The Roads We Take. Art by brothebro, writing by me.**

_"Twenty-Five, Claire in the mirror."_

* * *

 

 

She is twenty-five, nearly twenty-six, but she feels sixteen.

 

Years have passed but high school still feels like yesterday to Claire. How could it not? Ten years: it terrifies her how in such a short period of time the world she knows has disappeared.

 

All she has left are the remaining people who remember her for who she _was_ , however even that has been distorted by time. They treat her like glass, as though she were some expensive piece of art that could do no wrong. Her _hermano_ , little NotEnrique, looks at her with uncertain eyes; his entire perception of her is created by her family and friends. As if she was some paragon of goodness, a princess trapped by an evil witch; that’s how their parents explained it to him.

 

But wrong is the very essence of her now. Her parents try to pretend everything is okay, but the emotions that radiates off the medical staff and guards tells her another story.

 

They are afraid.

 

And so is she.

 

The woman in the bathroom mirror is not her, not really. Her hips are too wide, her breasts too full, her face too mature—and that isn’t even the worst of it. The rich dark brown her Papí used to brush for her has vanished, replaced with a white so bright her eyes hurt to look at it for too long.

 

Ugly dark veins run up her arms and out of her eyes, branding her, as if to forever remind her of the horrors _she_ caused.

 

She hates it. This is not her body, her hair, her face. Morgana twisted the girl she knew into the woman she did not and she is terrified. So _utterly_ terrified.

 

After a while, she turns away, too sick with disgust to remain. The white gown they placed her in clings to her body, making her so desperately wish for her old clothes, even if they could no longer fit her. She has changed too much now to go back, and dios mío, she wishes she could go back.  

 

Yet even still, time ticks on.

 

Claire wants to say she’s better (wants to _be_ better), but she never will be, not after what Morgana has done to her.

 

Guilt eats at her innards, her soul, her entire being. The deaths she caused weigh heavily. Breathing takes effort, so much so that at times she wonders if she’ll suffocate under its load.

 

So many ‘if onlys’ pass through her mind, thousands upon thousands each day. Before, she cried, day after day, but now, all that is left is a hollow shell.

 

And isn’t that what she is now? Morgana destroyed her inside and out, emptied the part of her that made Claire _herself_ in order to make way for the sorceress.

 

A small part of her wishes for death. She deserves it, especially after what she did to everyone, to her family and friends, to Jim—God, Jim.

 

If she is the drowning swimmer than he is the life raft she desperately clings onto. How could he look at her so lovingly? She didn’t deserve him, not after what she did. Yet still, he stays at her side, her protector, forever and always.

 

How pathetic. What a selfish being she has become.

 

Look at her. Her old self would be repulsed by such desperation.

 

Claire knows it is wrong to dependent on him so much, but now the feeling is innate. She wonders if that is why Morgana never gave up on Jim, if Claire’s feelings influenced the witch to hold onto that last bit of sanity within the darkness.

 

Who knows. In the end, Morgana is gone and Claire, well…Claire is here.

 

She isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.

 

The door opens, carefully, as if not to startle her. Claire’s hand clenches the railing she uses to walk between the bathroom and her bed, she tries to smile, even though it feels as plastic as the sheets she sleeps on.

 

“Toby,” she begins, clearing her throat. “You’re early.”

 

He approaches her cheerfully, a pip in his step that softens the fake smile on her lips. It reminds her of old times. Even though he has lost weight and aged, she can still see the excited gleam in his eye he got when he had good news. “I couldn’t wait for Jim to get here. The verdict just came back!”

 

Her brows furrowed.

 

“Verdict?” She asks.

 

Immediately, Toby pales. His hands freeze in the air.

 

The stench of secrecy is thick. Claire can feel the annoyance inside her rising, just below the surface of skin.

 

“Oh…Oh crap. I forgot,” he admits in a soft voice.

 

Claire tries to edge forward. “Forgot what?”

 

Unfortunately, her foot slips on the linoleum, breaking her trek towards the other. Her breath hitches as strong hands catch her. She blinks widely as her boyfriend came into view.

 

Her eyes flicker over to the open door.

 

She hadn’t even heard him come in. Another of Jim’s abilities perhaps? It is a surprising discover, especially considering his size.

 

“What’s going on?” Jim asks, worry in his sharp features. He examines her body like a hawk, lingering at her chest for a moment before returning to her eyes. Blood rushes to her cheeks.

 

“Claire, are you alright?”

 

“I-I’m fine,” she stammers out. As if reading her mind, Jim guides her to the bed, his hand encompassing most of her back. It is a comforting warmth. She is saddened when he removes it.

 

Toby’s mouth twitches. There is so much uncertainty in his stance. It reminds her of her previous question.

 

Fixing her gaze on her old friend once more, she reiterates, “What’s this about a verdict?”

 

She watches Jim this time, his expression closed off but the hairs on his neck and forearms rising almost instantaneously. Claire reaches out, settling her palm to his cheek. Softness spreads across his features. He cups her hand with his own, engulfing it in a steady, pulsing heat.

 

“Well, the good news is we can finally get you love-birds out of this place! I’m thinking beach, or, oh, oh! Maybe the countryside? I don’t know about you guys but I am totes ready for a vaca. Can I hear an amen?” Toby asks.

 

Claire frowns. “You’re avoiding the question.”

 

“Nothing gets past you huh?” Toby sighs.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim asserts. “We’re safe. Everything’s going to be alright.”

 

“Jim.” She leans forward, so close she can see the detailed texture of his skin. It is a strange mixture of pore and rock, the uncanny but beautiful valley between the two species. “Tell me.”

 

Jim’s face darkens. His golden pupils dilate, his gaze clouding over with a stormy grimace. Inwardly, she knows it is her fault he is like this now. Claire wonders what it is he is looking at: her or some past memory. Perhaps both.

 

“You know what happened,” he states.

 

She nods. Her other hand fists the fabric of her blanket.

 

“What I did as Morgana’s champion will never be erased. To most of humanity, I’m a monster.”

 

“But you’re not.” She shakes her head. “Morgana controlled you, manipulated you.”

 

“Claire, you don’t understand. I had a choice,” Jim stresses, his other hand resting at her knee. Selfishly, she moves closer to the warmth. Out of everything and everyone in the room, Jim is the only one who is warmest.

 

“What was the verdict about?” She asks again.

 

It is Toby who speaks up first, “Whether he would continue to carry out the duty of Trollhunter or…” There is a pause, one that feels like an eternity for Claire until he answers, “whether it would get passed to someone else.

 

Her boyfriend pulls out of her reach, as though on autopilot. Claire wants him to stay, wants to use his warmth once more, but the second he leaves her range it is freezing again.

 

They were going to kill Jim? The annoyance within transfigures into a freezing tundra of fear.

 

No. Never. Jim is hers, just as Claire is his. Why would they try and separate them? Didn’t they see how much Claire needs him to live?

 

“No, no, no, no—” She chanted, her fingers burrowed into her hair. “Why didn’t you two tell me?”

 

“Relax, okay? Everything’s going to be fine. The verdict went fine. Jim’s still here,” Toby tries to comfort her.

 

But it’s not. Nothing is fine. Toby isn’t fine, Jim isn’t fine—No one is. The cracks along her hands and arms ache. It is as though a million ants were inching up her body, underneath her skin.

 

She resists the urge to violently scratch them like she did the first few days. It is why the Doctors make her keep her nails short now.

 

When she finally regains control of her emotions, Claire brushes him off. “It’s not fine. None of this is fine. You didn’t even tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Her heart breaks as Jim presses himself into the corner, as if trying to make himself smaller. Is he terrified of her?

 

“We were afraid of how you would react,” Toby says, hands up and facing her.

 

“So what, you’ll just treat me like some porcelain doll the rest of my life, is that it?” Claire snaps. She can’t help it. The emotions within are boiling over.

 

Toby presses forward. “No, Claire, it’s just, after everything that’s happened—”

 

“Stop it!”

 

Her water glass shatters. She doesn’t see how it happens, but she knows in her heart who did it.

 

Morgana left more than scars on Claire after all.

 

In the corner of her eye, she notices a long crack has developed in the window that was not there before. Another testament to her emotional state.

 

To no surprise, Jim has disappeared from the room. Because of her.

 

“I’m sorry,” she cries, and truly she means it. Everything is her doing.

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Toby says, resting a hand on her shoulder. It is warm, but not like Jim’s. It barely heats her at all. “We know you didn’t mean it.”

 

“I want to be alone,” she whispers.

 

“You sure, Claire-Bear?” He says, leaning over.

 

A multitude of emotions pass over her friend’s face. This Toby is more calculative and calm, holding a maturity Claire wishes she could possess. Even when facing her darkest moments, he stands tall. She envies that confidence.

 

“Go. Talk to Jim. He looks like he needs it more than I do right now,” she suggests.

 

Toby’s lips smooth into a thin line, but he nods. As he turns towards the door, he looks back.

 

“I’m just a call away. Anytime, anywhere. Darci too.”

 

Halfway outside, Claire calls out. “Wait. Toby, be honest with me, what does the verdict really mean?”

 

And like that, the old vestiges of Toby are gone. The man before her leans on the frame, an age-old look crossing his features.

 

“The world has changed a lot since you last saw it, Claire. The new world government wants order.”

 

“They’re going to use him, just like I—Morgana did.”

 

Toby nodded.

 

“This is my fault.” How could it not be? She wishes they would just admit it.

 

“No it’s not,” Toby stresses, halfway back inside. “You’re not—”

 

“Go,” she commands. No more. Claire can’t stand the way he looks at her.

 

“But—”

 

“ **Go!** ”

 

The crack along the window spreads out like a spiderweb. A freezing wind envelops the area, blowing her hair around and pushing the door close with a sharp echoing slam.

 

The lights flicker, off and on, until she regains control once more.

 

As the magic disperses, her body loosens, tears running freely. Her arms burn from the use of magic. Everything hurts, but none approach the pain in her chest.

 

Morgana’s magic flows through her now. And for someone as broken as she, it is no wonder her friends are afraid both for and of her.

 

She wishes she could go back. She wishes she had fought harder.

 

But wishing doesn’t turn back time.

 

Believe her, she’s tried.

 

Claire glances upwards, back in the bathroom mirror.

 

She is a monster.

 

And that’s all she ever will be.

 

 

 


	2. Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is twenty-six when they move into their new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters. 
> 
> Big thanks to my collab partner Brothebro for helping me with this, as well as Vici who read over it. It's been really fun to write this.Big thanks for all the reviews, kudos, and favorites. Seriously, I super appreciate it.Check out my tumblr tunafishprincess where I post all my art for this series and Blue Moon Rising, as well as my regular art. I hope you enjoy this new chapter! : D

 

* * *

 

 

"Claire and Jim on the couch" by Brothebro

* * *

 

 

 

She is twenty-six when they move into their new home.

 

Well, perhaps not home. Not yet.

 

The shingles are haphazardly thrown around the uncut grass in clumps, whilst the door barely hangs on its hinges. The inside is worse. Dust blankets the living room and kitchen. Even the closed off bedroom ( _only one bed_ , she notes), has dust bunnies scattered amongst the mess of clothes and blankets someone left behind.

 

And left behind they did. Whoever the original owners are, they left most of their valuables. Claire knows why, or at least, she thinks so. Most of the houses, especially this close to Arcadia, are abandoned. Another symbol of her past deeds.

 

But it would make due. It has to.

 

They have nowhere else to go.

 

She suspects Toby pulled several strings to get them such a place. Most humans these days live in a post-war era of poverty and disease, all brought upon by the witch queen herself. Morgana is dead, but her story will live on for centuries, if not millennia. Trolls and humans would not soon forget such a woman, nor will they forget the face she wore.

 

The first month of cleaning and tidying up the place are a godsend. Every day she awoke to the sound of Jim working on the roof and every night she knocked out, bone-tired from cleaning and fixing up the little cottage. When they finish up the major repairs, she starts her own little garden. Nothing like her father’s, but it is a start.

 

It is soothing in the beginning. No thoughts, just work. Her and Jim largely ignore each other outside of pleasantries and small talk. She is fine. Everything is fine.

 

Until it isn’t.

 

Toby and Darci visited when they could but for the most part it is only her and Jim here, no neighbors for a hundred miles around. She looks forward to them, desperately so, because what else did she have to look forward to these days?

 

The snippets of information help feed her imagination of the world around them. Her lack of internet made any outside news exciting, even the most dull kind. What she would give to have a newspaper or magazine subscription. But alas.

 

The Nuñez household came every few months, but even that wasn’t enough. Her family has their own lives, she knows, what, with Enrique’s schooling, her mother’s work—it hurts, but she understands. Even though it feels like it was just yesterday she was a teenager, outwardly she is an adult. Ten years is a long time. They have moved on, changed and grown without her presence.

 

Enrique sends her letters at least.

 

Jim is…She isn’t sure what their relationship is these days. One moment they are on the couch together and the next he’s somewhere else, leaving her for hours, sometimes days at a time.

 

The tension could only go on for so long. Claire is bored. Reading is nice, but it doesn’t fill the void within her.

 

The days turn to weeks turn to months and she is starving for something, anything.

 

An itch she cannot scratch, no matter how much work she does around the house or in the garden. It is as though there is a hole inside her chest, expanding with every breath.

 

Emptiness. Morgana hollowed her out, leaving her scrambling for purchase in this strange new world of familiar and not. No one could ever understand. Not really. She watched every atrocity the sorceress committed, like a figure behind a thick wall of glass. No matter how hard she screamed, no one could hear her.

 

Ten years is a lot to comb through. She knows she’s screwed up, mentally, emotionally, physically—take your pick. Morgana twisted her soul, shifted her body to accommodate the creature she originally was.

 

The creature Claire now is.

 

Humans didn’t levitate in their sleep.

 

Humans didn’t break glass without touching it.

 

The magic ebbs and flows, changing at the slightest change in her mood. No wonder Toby put her here. Society is better without her causing anymore havoc than she already does.

 

Still, the tightness within her builds.

 

She misses human contact—any contact. Stranded in the woods without much entertainment begins to suffocate her. Unlike the hospital she has nothing to distract her from her thoughts. Jim tries to help, but he isn’t much better. The sweet boy she remembers is a man now, strange and alluring; yet no matter what she does, he is always out of her reach.

 

It all comes to ahead one night, when Jim comes home much later than normal. She waits at the door for him to return, a bundle of emotions ready to erupt.

 

And how could they not? _Look at me_ , she thinks. What a dutiful little wife she has become. Her sixteen-year-old self would be horrified at what she is now. No job, no education past tenth grade, no social life—it is a heavy blow to her self-esteem. All her dreams are dashed now, all because she didn’t seek help.

 

Dios mio, if only she sought out her friends before this entire mess. Even now she can recall the confusion, of how she kept forgetting things, of the endless cold that ate at her being. The cracks that wouldn’t go away. So many signs. And she was too stubborn to see them.

 

The door creaked open. Jim’s head lowered beneath the frame, horns lightly scrapping the top.

 

Her breath hitches. It is not so much the size that surprises her, but the power behind it. The thin beanpole boy that barely topped five and a half feet now towers over her, his entire body corded muscle, with impossibly large shoulders that tapered into a trim waist. No, trim didn’t cut it. Even with his shirt on she could see the outline of his abs and chest.

 

_Could probably bounce a quarter of it_ , she reflects, cheeks growing rosy at the thought.

 

No. Almost immediately she reins herself in. Her fists clench. She is supposed to be angry. Jim is late. No, more than late, he was _missing_.

 

She knows he can sense her in the darkness, if not outright see her. The red of his eyes glow ominously. The scent of pennies is heavy in the room. As he heads for the kitchen, Claire moves in front of him.

 

“Jim, wait.” She adds, “Please.”

 

He turns his head slightly, ears lowering. “Can this wait till morning, Claire?”

 

Absolutely not. By then he would have an excuse and they would be back where they started, skirting around each other like always. Claire pressed on, “Where were you?”

 

“Work.”

 

Claire’s lips tug downward. Work. She hates his work. She may be trapped here but he is trapped out there, forced to do the very things Morgana used to impose upon him. He is the government’s dog, all because of her.

 

“You could have told me,” she says, voice level. They were a team, right?

 

“There wasn’t enough time.”

 

“There’s never enough time, is there?” She sighs, leaning against the wall. She rubs her temples, trying to starve off the headache forming. It is one of the symptoms of her magic. As if she needs even more things wrong with her.

 

His shoulders raise. “What?”

 

She throws up her hands. “Every time. You disappear without ever telling me anything. I have to get the information from Toby, and even he’s tight lipped about it because of some stupid “security clearance”. Can’t you at least have the courtesy to leave me a message? Even a text would do.”

 

With every word that passed her lips the frustration builds. They are supposed to be together but if anything they are further apart than ever before.

 

“Claire—” He whispers.

 

Magic crackles around her; the furniture around her shakes.

 

She knows she’s overreacting. Nevertheless, she cannot stop the frustration growing within her. These last few months have left her in a constant state of unease. It is now or never.

 

 “No, I’m not finished,” she snaps. “You can’t keep doing this.”

 

His eyes flicker away from her steady gaze. He looks extraordinarily uncomfortable, like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “Doing what?”

 

She groans, rubbing her forehead. Is he serious right now? “Vanishing without a trace. What if something happened here? How would I ever get a hold of you? What if something happened to you?”

 

“The government has security detail on the grounds,” he answers, scratching the scruff at the base of his neck. “Besides, if something did happen to me, you would be cared for.”

 

“Cared for?” She bites out. What is she, some sort of puppy? “Are you for real?”

 

“What do you want me to say?”

 

“Everything!” She yells, louder than she wants to, but the bubble within her has burst. Her hands grow hot in response.

 

Instantly, a picture frame dislodges from the wall. Claire startles then turns her head at the sound. It is a move that costs her.

 

When she turns back, the door is open.

 

Her boyfriend is gone once more.

 

“Mother—” She bites down the rest of the curse.

 

Cold grips her chest, spreading out to her extremities. Her teeth chatter. The glass windows sing, alerting her of how bad it has gotten.

 

Damn it. _Every_ time. Every time she accidentally uses her powers he disappears.

 

Finally, the window behind her shattered. Shuddering, she begins to do the breathing exercises Darci taught her. Count to ten: one, two, three, four, five…

 

It takes her longer than she would like to admit.

 

Still, she does it. The emotions are balled up tightly inside, the freezing chill in her blood warming into an uneasy coolness.

 

Part of her knows this is her fault. She is to blame for Jim’s reaction.

 

But another part of her disagrees. Didn’t he say he would stay with her always?

 

What she wouldn’t give for a break from all of this. This stupid reality where she hurt everyone and everything. Is this how it is going to be for the rest of her life?

 

Is this her destiny?

 

God. She hopes not. That is almost as bad as the ten years with Morgana. Having no one to talk to and the only one that does fears her using magic.

 

Tired hands make quick work of the mess. It gets her mind off the inevitable, though not for long.

 

An hour later, he returns. This time, Claire doesn’t give him the luxury of an excuse. She bores into him, finger pressing into his broad chest. Her other hand tugs on the braid she made for him this morning. It is almost comical, her, small and fragile and him, large and indestructible.

 

“You’re a coward,” she remarks coldly. “You can’t talk about it so you just ignore the problem.”

 

“Claire,” he says, still not looking at her. “Stop.”

 

“No, I’m not going to stop. You can’t keep pushing me away.” She drags him over across the room, his mane a makeshift leash. He complies, albeit reluctantly.

 

It is childish, yes, but nothing else appears to get to him.

 

“I’m not pushing you away,” he reaches out, tucking a stray bang behind her ear. Part of her softens, before remembering the prior conversation. She swats the hand away. “I’m keeping you safe.”

 

“Bullshit. Keeping me safe? You’re running away,” she accuses. To add salt to the wound, she adds, “No wonder Morgana won.”

 

Her eyes widen.

 

It is the wrong insult.

 

She regrets the words the moment they leave her mouth.

 

The man wearing Jim’s face steels. Claire drops the braid. The golden pupils, normally rounded, slits, more animal than human.

 

His hunched back straightens. The muscles in his shoulders stretch against the confines of his shirt.

 

The Morgana issue is always a sore one between them (and probably will be for a long time). A rush of shame brushes against her heart. Nevertheless, she faces him head on.

 

She knows she should be afraid. This is someone who fought for her, killed for her, held her—warmth pools between her legs. It is involuntary.

 

Now, Claire theoretically remembers how and what they did together, but the actual is far different than what she saw through Morgana’s eyes. Her eyes fall to his chest, which appears to be expanding as he stretches out to his full size.

 

_Holy moly he’s big_ , she realizes.

 

“What did you say?” He asks, edging her closer to the wall.

 

Bravery (or foolhardiness, it is hard to tell) grips her. She crosses her arms. “You heard me.”

 

He leans closer. “You don’t know anything.”

 

Claire can’t help her cheeks from burning. Did he seriously just say that? Anger flares up once more. She gestures her forefinger at his face. “I was there. I know about _everything_ , Jim. Morgana was me, remember? I remember how she tricked you into drinking that potion. I remember the bathing room. I remember the time you tried to kill her—”

 

Her words get caught in her throat. Jim growls, his mouth close to her neck. She can feel his breath against her chest, hot and heavy.

 

“Then you remember how dangerous I am too,” he whispers, voice rumbling. “I am a monster, Claire. You don’t want to be around me…Not when I’m like this.”

 

She reaches out. “No, you’re not.”

 

Bad move. Her back smacked against the wall. She gasps. His arms lock her in, strong and unyielding, while his leg runs up against her—

 

Her chest tightens.

 

That isn’t his leg.

 

The heat within her builds. She is terrified and sad and angry and aroused and every other possible emotion. The scent of magic grows thick in the air. Her magic. Jim’s ears twitch in response. The faded marks on his face don’t glow, not like before, but the etchings appear deeper, darker, as if in response to Jim’s mood.

 

“I could break you. Here and now. Do you understand that?” He asks in a deep voice.

 

Her breath catches as his hand snaked around, grasping her from behind and lifting her up. His entire palm encompasses her backside.

 

He draws close, inches from her face. His pupils grow large, nostrils flaring. A soft rumble erupts from his throat. “This isn’t a game. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

 

She licks her lips. This is a dangerous situation.

 

But this is the most alive she’s felt in months too.

 

Finally, she resolves to end it.

 

“You’re not.” She grasps his shirt. “I need you, Jim. Please.”

 

The vibration in his chest grows louder. He lowers her to the floor once more (she almost feels a tad disappointed by that).

 

She can read the swirl of emotions on his face, from the lowering of his ears to his hitched shoulders. A soft smile emerges on her lips; he’s embarrassed.

 

Despite the changes, Jim is still there. Just as broken as she is.

 

And that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? Two broken people, looking for the other to make them whole.

 

“You could do better,” he says.

 

Seizing the moment, she presses a kiss on his forehead. The tension in his shoulders ease. “You’re not the only monster around here, Jim,” she admits.

 

She makes a move for his lips but he stops her. There’s a softness in his gaze, but there is hesitancy too.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not ready.”

 

“Alright,” she concedes. It hurts, but she understands.

 

He brings her closer. She wraps her arms around his neck. He is warm and firm and smells of the outside world.

 

“This is all so new. I’m afraid it’s a dream,” he confesses, voice breaking. “I’m so scared of losing you. You’re everything to me.”

 

Claire chokes down a sob. Her lip trembles. The angry, frustrated part of her begins to wash away.

 

“I can relate.” Even she wonders at times whether all this is something she made up, brought upon by the insanity of being with Morgana for so long.

 

“I missed you. I missed us. I just didn’t want to screw it up like I did with everything else. I want what we had before. It was perfect and real and—”

 

She presses a finger to his lips. He gives her a familiar lopsided smile.

 

“We were never perfect, Jim,” she answers truthfully. “We both had our flaws.”

 

Her arrogance and his self-sacrifice. She lets out a soft giggle. What a pair they are.

 

“I missed this,” he says.

 

“Me too.” She pauses, pulling a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. “Can we cuddle? Like we used to—Wah! Dios mio, qué haces? Jim, oh my gosh! Stop, you doofus! Put me down!”

 

The princess carry is unexpected, to say the least. He spins around, making Claire break out into a fit of laughter. It is the most fun she’s had in months.

 

“You wanted to cuddle,” he replies cheerfully.

 

She rolls her eyes, cheeks reddening. “You’re impossible.”

 

They settle into the couch. It creaks under them, largely because it wasn’t meant for someone of Jim’s size, she suspects. Slowly, she crawls onto his lap. Her hands caress his hair, over and over, hypnotic in its rhythm. The tension in his shoulder ease, melting away. She leans forward; he shifts to accommodate her. She digs her face into his shoulder, taking in his scent, a warm encompassing presence.

 

“We can’t keep doing this whole ignoring the problem thing anymore. We need to talk. Real talk. About everything,” she says. “I know it’s scary, but I’m going insane over here. You’re the only one around I can really talk to.”

 

“You’re right,” he mumbles into her hair. His head tilts back, eyes closing. “I guess I’ll start then.”

 

“Are you sure?” She says.

 

He nods, pulling her closer. “Sure? Heck no. But you’re right about the talking.”

 

It’s not much. The conversation only lasts half an hour before Claire nods off.

 

But it’s a start.

 

 

 


	3. Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is twenty-seven and curious
> 
> (WARNING: Sex Scene included in this chapter.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own Trollhunters or any of its characters. 
> 
> Hey! New chapter yey! Thought I'd finally get this work out there. Thank you bloody and brothebro for betaing this chapter for me. You guys are awesome. Blue Moon Rising will be updated this Friday and I will update Hunter Prince not long after that. I promise to finish this fic before the end of this year or at least try to.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

 

 

Art by Brothebro, fanfic by me.

 

* * *

 

She is twenty-seven and curious.

 

Insanely so. How could she not be? It’s not like she has anything else to think about. But every time she opens her mouth the words fail to find their place upon her tongue. Instead, the words find a home in her mind, constantly flickering through her every day thoughts as the days and months pass by.

 

_What is their relationship?_

_When will they take the next step?_

 

Her heart hammers inside her chest as the image of their last kissing session came to mind.  

 

_Seriously_. Even the thought makes her insides hot and bothered.

 

She wipes the sweat from her forehead, resetting the window panel she broke days before. Her control, while improving, still has some kinks to work out.

 

Claire sighs. Magic. Jim. It’s all intertwined. Although their relationship has improved (tremendously, she’d like to add), Jim has yet to take the initiative.

 

_It’s high school all over again_ , she thinks dryly.

 

She _knows_ he’s attracted to her. His small but meaningful touches, the purple blush that spreads across his face and ears whenever she compliments him, the way his pupils dilate into thin slivers of liquid gold whenever she approaches—all the signs are there.

 

So why haven’t they gone any further?

 

Is it her inexperience? Claire clenches fistfuls of her dress. Did he forget she was there when Morgana inhabited her body? It’s not like she’s some timid bride. Claire knew how to pet and be petted _quite_ well.

 

Her hands subconsciously travel to her features. As if she needed something else to be self-conscious about.

 

Neither magic nor medicine would heal these scars. The cracks across her hands and face would forever brand her. Though she has gotten used to her appearance, accepted the womanly curves and chest that she did not possess before, it is still strange to call this body her own. She can’t help but gaze at her reflection in the new window. At least the same brown eyes stare back.

 

She takes a deep breath as magic pools beneath her skin, reacting to her emotional state.

 

Her fingers run through her white tresses, trying to calm the power within her. They snag on the bottom half.

 

_Dios_ , there are so many knots. She needs to cut it again soon.

 

In the meantime, she pulls the scrunchie off the scrunchie from her wrist, using her fingers to gather all the hair into a tight ponytail before tying and tugging the end for good measure.

 

Her gaze drifts beyond the glass. The morning light cast its rays across the house, reminding her of the other duties she would need to attend. After a yawn she stretches her arms, ready to start the day anew.

 

She takes a tentative step from the entrance. Then, another. Her hands grow clammy.

 

Inside the house she is safe; outside is another story.

 

The summer air greets her first, fresh and dewy. Her shoulders relax. Picking up an empty bucket and the laundry basket, she heads to the nearby stream.

 

It is at the river’s edge that she finds him.

 

Her cheeks burn at his state of undress.

 

He freezes, eyes wide at her arrival.

 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she stammers, trying to cover her eyes whilst holding onto her laundry. Instead, she fails to do both, both the basket and bucket tumbling into the grass. “I can leave if you’d like.”

 

“It’s fine, Claire,” he says, voice level.

 

Her stomach flip-flops. She cannot help but widen the gap between her fingers, taking in his form.

 

She remembers, and yet, seeing it here, beneath the shaded trees and standing at the river’s edge, it is new and exciting like the first time he kissed her so long ago.

 

His throat bobs, gaze meeting her own before flickering to the forest.

 

He doesn’t move. Neither do.

 

She swallows back the embarrassment and presses onward.

 

_Now or never,_ she thinks.

 

“Can I,” she begins hesitantly, “Can I join you?”

 

He stares. After a moment’s pause, he nods.

 

She strips. It is clumsy and awkward, nothing like what she wishes it to be. Wishes _she_ could be.

 

But nothing will ever be how she wishes now.

 

So instead, she hopes for the best that it _can_ be.

 

Her foot dips into the water. It is cool. When she gets to her knees she loses her footing, nearly tumbling backward, only to be stopped by a large familiar hand at the small of her back. She looks up.

 

His pupils are crescents, molten gold against the volcanic red. Though she misses the blue she cannot help but shiver in excitement at the intensity of his gaze.

 

She could feel his want. His desire.

 

She leans closer, angling her head into his chest. His body stiffens.

 

“Can we?” She asks.

 

“Are you certain?”

 

She nods.

 

He takes a deep breath. “Then let’s move closer to the bank.”

 

He adjusts his hold to her shoulders. He dips further into the water and turns around, carefully guiding her other leg over his torso. She has sat on him this way several times during their make-out sessions, however the new level of intimacy brings a fiery heat to her center.

 

She glides upward, leaning over so she and he are eye to eye.

 

His chest moves, up and down, reminding her of the power beneath her.

 

It is intoxicating.

 

“I remember doing this, but it’s still kind of scary,” she admits.

 

His gaze sharpens. He brushes her cheek with his index. “Whenever you want to stop, just tell me.”

 

Claire’s thighs quiver. “But what about you? Are you okay with all this? I don’t want to make you—”

 

Before she could finish her words his arms were around her once more. The light touch of his lips makes her whole body tremble. It is soft for now, but she feels the strength behind his tongue that promises a fiercer, darker passion. 

“Does that answer your question?” He asks breathlessly.

 

Her mouth answers him. Out of anything, this is the most familiar; the warmth of his lips, the sharpness of his teeth—her hips grind to the rhythm of their kissing, magic gathering inside her.

 

His body reacts to her invitation, nails digging into her back. His kiss trails downward, resting at the nape of her neck. She gasps as his fangs nip at her skin.

 

He jerks his head back. Pupils wide, he checks her body, worry riding his brow.

 

“I’m so sorry, Claire. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Are you hurt?” His eyes rest upon the mark at her neck. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

 

“Jim,” she begins, hand guiding his face back to her own. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

 

Her words meet deaf ears. He tilts back into the shallowest part of the bank, hair floating around his face like a crown.

 

“I don’t want to lose control,” he confesses.

 

Claire nods. This isn’t the first time he has told her this.

 

But she isn’t going to give up this time. Stopping now would put them back to where they were. Claire didn’t want that and, if she might be so bold to presume, he didn’t either.

 

The idea pours out of her mouth the moment it forms. “Then give me the control.”

 

His brows cross. “What?”

 

“I’ll be in charge. You’re afraid you’ll hurt me, right? If I’m in control then everything will be fine,” she explains. “That way we can both enjoy it.”

 

“What if I still hurt you?” His voice cracks, jaw tight. It is rare to see him so vulnerable. She cannot help but kiss his forehead.

 

“Jim,” she stresses the word. “It’s not like I’m defenseless. We both know that. Just…I want you.”

 

His eyes widen, heat rising to his cheeks so vibrantly she thought he was aglow. He covers his face with the back of his arm to hide his embarrassment; he fails.

 

Claire smiles.

 

“You always say the most embarrassing things,” he mumbles, nodding in agreement to her arrangement. “What…what would you like me to do first?”

 

“Touch yourself,” she commands.

 

Her breath hitches as he does as she says.

 

She watches eagerly. His muscles tense under her eyes. Water drips down, accentuating every movement.

 

Part of her relishes this power over him. Morgana had torn her to pieces and left her in a world she no longer knew, but he is always at her side. Truly, out of all the things she is unable to control, Jim is the constant exception. He is loyal to her to the nth degree.

 

It is terrifying and fascinating.

 

She wonders if these thoughts are remnants of Morgana. Her stomach clenches in unease. Is this fascination with control her own? Does that mean she is horrible as the woman who enslaved half the earth and brought millions (if not billions) to their knees?

 

No. She doesn’t crave power over the rest of the world as the sorceress did. All she wants is the man in front of her.

 

“Lean forward.”

 

He shifts, bent halfway to meet her cheek.

 

“What would you like me to do now?” He whispers into her ear.

 

Her heart leaps to her throat.

 

“Anything you want.”

 

He shakes his head. “That would be dangerous.”

 

Claire wants to roll her eyes. As if she isn’t dangerous herself?

 

But this isn’t about just her. As eager as she is she needs to be patient.

 

“Let me rephrase it then: what will turn you on?” She asks firmly.

 

His forehead rests against her chest. She feels his ears twitch. “I…I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

“We’re taking it slow, right? If something makes me uncomfortable I’ll tell you.” She presses their foreheads together. “Tell me what you want.”

 

“Is that a command?”

 

She swallows then remarks, “Yes.”

 

“Can you…” He bit his lower lip. “Could you kiss my neck?”

 

Her lips press against it. “Like this?”

 

The reaction is almost instantaneous. His back arches. She grasps his biceps to keep from falling.

 

“Rougher,” he breathes.

 

She encircles her arms around his head. She playfully places biting kisses descending from the space between his shoulder and jaw.

 

Mana builds within her. She forces it down. _Not now,_ she thinks.

 

Vibrations run through his chest. Claire resists the urge to laugh. How cute. Though not quite purring it is close enough.

 

“Yes, like that,” he moans.

 

“Bend your head,” she orders. It is getting easier to give him directions now.

 

Her hands grasp the two protrusions. She gently rubs the horns. A soft growl emits from his mouth. She cannot help it; the magic underneath her skin sizzles in delight.

 

He bucks. Claire tightens her legs around his frame.

 

Her fingers travel down until she reaches the base of them. They are larger than her hands but smoother than the top parts are.

 

“How about now?”

 

He sighs. “Perfect.”

 

She bites her bottom lip. This is it. She straddles his waist.

 

“Put your hands above your head,” she directs.

 

He complies. Powerful arms rest into the grass of the bank.

 

“Don’t move your hands. If you need to grab onto something let me know and we can move,” she suggests.

 

He nods.

 

Claire takes in the moment. The soaked hair, the dark blush, his pleading eyes—it brings forth a wealth of satisfaction within her soul. She is in control.

 

It is supremely comforting to know how trusting he is. Even if the world hates her for the sorceress’s actions Jim continues to stay by her side.

 

While her future is no longer her own, at least she can share it with him.

 

Water streamed down his chest as she positioned herself. As they move, she hears his nails dig into the grass behind them.

 

When she bends her neck, his breathing increases, deep and unsteady with a slight hiss at every inhale.

 

She locks eyes with him.

 

Disheveled and pupils dilated, he is less human than she has ever seen him before.

 

Her magic reaches its peak.

 

Pressure builds. She feels him lift her out of the water by the force of it all, legging wrapping around him to keep from falling.

 

Large hands grasp her waist, holding her steady. The nails bit her skin.

 

The magic within her reaches rages. Though she cannot see it, she knows it is there. His pace increases.

 

Heat overtakes her.

 

She gasps.

 

Tears of pain and pleasure intermix.

 

It is the first time in a long while she no longer feels like she’s drowning. This is the intimacy she so craved.

 

It is as though gravity no longer, floating on air in the wake of their experience. Jim’s weight decreases as he finishes soon after. His head rests against her shoulder, breathing shallow and quick.

 

“That was…intense,” she says between breaths.

 

“Agreed.” His gaze travels downward, brows furrowing in remorse. “Sorry. I grabbed you at the end.”

 

“Don’t be. You did fine.” She strokes his hair fondly.

 

“But I hurt you, Claire. I’m so sorry.” He glances down at his hands. “It’s just…with this body, it’s big and unwieldy and I—”

 

She presses a kiss to his lips.

 

“I liked it,” she answers. “Besides, we haven’t done it in a long time. How are you feeling? Do you need some time alone?”

 

As much as she would like to stay, she knows the man before her. While Jim has gotten better at dealing with his emotions, sometimes he needed to walk off the energy. She isn’t sure if it is a troll thing or a male thing. Either way, she tried to respect his needs.

 

He lifts his head, ears lowering. “Maybe soon, but…”

 

Claire caresses his face.

 

“But what?”

 

“I want to stay here with you for a while,” he confessed.

 

Her heart soars.

 

She let him finish the rest of his bath as she dressed, body relaxed and giddy. He joins her in the grass soon after, damp hair soaking his shirt. Their hands intertwine.

 

Trees sway to the warm winds. She inhales deeply, taking in the scenery and good feelings. Out of the house, she always fears discovery, fears running into her past, but for now, even if for but a single moment, she does not.

 

Her eyes close. If she tries hard enough, she could imagine that they are normal lovers on a romantic getaway. She could be an actress and he could be a chef. She stifles a giggle at the thought of him in a white hat and apron.

 

It is a nice daydream. She wishes she could have more of them.

 

But no dream lasts forever.

 

“How is your training coming along?” He asks out of the blue.

 

She blinks. Training is one word for it, she supposes. She can sense the power in the back of her mind, a swirling force of nature that ebbs and flows like the sea. For now, it is sated, or at least that’s how it feels. Hard to tell when it isn’t technically hers to begin with. 

 

“Bits and starts,” she answers, lifting a hand. She observes the jagged lines that trailed down her fingers. “Hard to learn how to manage it all without a trainer.” She pauses, mulling her next words carefully. “I…I’ve been spending time looking through my memories, from when Morgana possessed me.”

 

He pushes himself up by his elbows, brows raised. “You can do that?”

 

“Sort of? It’s pretty draining and not always successful.” She sighs. “Magic isn’t the kind of thing that can be easily controlled, especially Morgana’s. It’s chaos incarnate.”

 

“Can you pull a rabbit out of your hat?” He jokes, though she can tell by his tense face that this isn’t the kind of conversation he really wants to hear.

 

“Sadly, no. She changed me, inside and out. I’m not sure I’m even human anymore,” she admits, tugging at the grass and tossing the blades into the wind.

 

Rough fingers stroke her cheek. She turns her head.

 

Jim’s eyes soften. He bends down, lips brushing her forehead. “No matter what you are, You’ll always be Claire, human or not.”

 

She squeezes the finger softly. “I could say the same to you.”

 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

 

“You being there is enough. Sometimes I like to imagine we’re two newlyweds on a honeymoon,” she says.

 

“That’s a nice idea. Not sure I’d take you here though.” He pretends to scratch his chin as if in thought.

 

She sits up. “Oh? Where would you take me?”

 

“New York or London. That’s where most big theater productions are, right?” His face falls as reality set in. “Well, _were_. Not sure what’s there now.”

 

She raises a brow. This is news to her. “Your job doesn’t let you go?”

 

He let out a dry mirthless chuckle. His smile, normally warm and comforting, now looks as cold and brittle as ice.

 

“My job doesn’t let me do most things, Claire. If one can even call it _that_. Walking in public is one of them. It’s like being the Trollhunter, but worse. Essentially, I come in, appear menacing and, if need be, act on their orders. I don’t get to disagree,” he says bitterly. “Despite what you may think, it’s not all that free. Most of the time I just wish I was back here with you again. This is lightyears better than what the government wants me for.”

 

Her chest tightens. She shakes her head, hoping she sounds as apologetic as she feels. “Oh, Jim. If I had known how bad it was I’d—"

 

“There’s nothing you can do, Claire,” he interrupts, hair shadowing his eyes. His shoulders loosen as he drew circles in the palm of her hand with his thumb. “But I understand why you hate it here. Not being able to leave can be pretty suffocating too.”

 

A cold chill ran through her body.

 

In the back of her mind she already knew the answer, but she asks anyways. “They’re watching us right now, aren’t they?”

 

His silence confirms it.

 

Her face pales. A cold chill runs down her spine. Oh god, had they seen them in the river? She wants to vomit, but her empty stomach provides no relief. The violation makes her feel dirty. Her hands subconsciously scratch at her arms.

 

“How long?” She whispers.

 

He gives her a resigned look. “Always.”

 

“Some freedom then. I thought with your job and our seclusion that would be the end of it. I can’t believe…It’s wrong. We’re not animals at a zoo. Don’t we have rights?”

 

“Not anymore.”

 

“A gilded cage then,” she remarks, slowly resigning herself to the fact. “How lovely.”

 

His ears twitch. He bends over, head lightly resting atop her own. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

 

“How do you cope with it?”

 

This guilt. This shame.

 

This self-hatred.

 

How does he find the will to go on, she wants to ask but thinks better of it. It took him forever to lay off thinking she would end her life. She didn’t want him to burden him with such thoughts, at least not until they both feel more stable.

 

She chokes back a sob.

 

If they ever did.

 

“I think about all the good things in my life,” he answers.

 

“Like what?”

 

He smiles, and this time she knows its genuine.

 

“You.”

 

 

 


End file.
